‘And very large breasts,’ said Jenny.
‘Didn’t notice,’ said Nightingale.
‘Has she joined your fan club?’
‘Is there one?’
‘Probably not.’ She raised her glass of wine to him. ‘Cheers,’ she said.
Nightingale clinked his glass against hers. ‘Down the hatch.’
‘When did you start drinking vodka and Coke? You always drink Corona.’
‘Not always.’ He patted his stomach. ‘It’s better for the waistline.’
‘I think you’ll find there’re more calories in a vodka and Coke, especially a double vodka and Coke, than a bottle of beer.’ She flashed him a tight smile. ‘It’s not about the calories, is it?’
He grinned and took a long pull on his drink, then smacked his lips. ‘Okay, it tastes good, and it’s a quicker way of getting alcohol into the system.’
‘What’s wrong, Jack?’
‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘Or everything. I’m not sure.’ He opened the carrier bag and took out Mitchell’s diary.
‘Where did you get that from?’ she asked.
‘Best you don’t know,’ he said.
‘You went back to the house? Jack, please don’t tell me that you’ve been breaking and entering?’
‘Strictly speaking, it wasn’t me that did the breaking but I did help with the entering.’
Jenny shook her head reproachfully. ‘You’re going to end up in prison if you carry on like this.’
‘I hardly think Sebastian Mitchell is going to press charges,’ he said. He grinned. ‘Mind you, Hell is probably full of lawyers. What do you think?’
‘I think you need to get a grip,’ she said. ‘You can’t keep going into people’s houses like this.’
‘We need that diary,’ said Nightingale. ‘And I couldn’t see any other way of getting it.’
‘The end justifies the means? That’s no excuse, Jack.’ She held up the diary. ‘And now you’ve passed it on to me, which makes me in receipt of stolen goods. That’s a criminal offence, Jack.’
‘Jenny, sweetheart…’
‘Don’t “sweetheart” me, Jack Nightingale. It’s one thing for you to go around breaking the law, but it’s something else when you drag me into it.’
Nightingale put up his hands in surrender. ‘Okay, okay, I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘But let’s not forget that Mitchell sent his goons to get it from you. At gunpoint. We found it in Gosling’s basement, remember? And possession is nine-tenths of the law.’
‘That’s a fallacy,’ she said. ‘Possession has nothing to do with ownership. Your father stole it from Mitchell.’
‘That’s what Mitchell said. We don’t know that it’s true.’ He reached over and squeezed her hand. ‘I’m just saying it’s a grey area. Sebastian Mitchell and Ainsley Gosling were as bad as each other. All I want is a look-see at that diary to know if there’s anything in it that can help my sister. You can’t blame me for that. Besides, they’re both dead anyway.’
She held his look for several seconds, then nodded slowly. ‘Okay,’ she said.
‘Are you sure? I don’t want you angry at me.’
She took her hand away. ‘I’m not angry, Jack,’ she said. ‘I’m just a bit… apprehensive. About what’s happening to you.’
‘You and me both, kid,’ said Nightingale. He sat back and ran a hand over his face. ‘It’s been a funny few weeks.’ He sipped his drink. ‘You do believe me, don’t you?’
‘About what?’
‘What happened at Mitchell’s house. On my birthday.’
‘Of course I believe you. Why would you lie about something like that?’
‘I wasn’t lying,’ he said. ‘But there’s something strange going on.’
‘Spit it out, Jack. What’s wrong?’
Nightingale sighed. ‘I told you what happened. How Proserpine appeared at midnight and Mitchell left his pentagram and she killed him?’
‘Dragged him kicking and screaming into the bowels of Hell is how you described it.’
‘And that’s exactly how I remember it,’ said Nightingale. ‘Except…’
‘Except what?’
Nightingale picked up his vodka and Coke and finished it. ‘Let me get another drink and I’ll tell you,’ he said.
57
W hen Nightingale had finished telling her what he’d seen on the CCTV footage in Mitchell’s house, he picked up his glass and toasted her. ‘So what do you think?’
She ran her fingertip around the rim of her glass. ‘How am I supposed to answer that?’ she said. ‘Nothing that’s happened over the past few weeks makes any sense, not really. It’s like the whole world has turned upside down for us but for everyone else life just carries on as normal.’ Jenny sipped her wine, then put down her glass. ‘I don’t think you imagined it,’ she said. ‘I know that’s what you think I’m thinking.’
‘I wouldn’t blame you.’
‘Just because the CCTV didn’t show Proserpine, doesn’t mean that she wasn’t there.’ She leaned towards him. ‘I believe you, Jack.’
‘I know you do. But there was a hell of a lot of video of me just standing there with a blank look on my face.’ He shrugged. ‘Maybe it was all in my head. Maybe I imagined the whole thing.’
‘You’re not a man given to making things up, Jack. I know that much about you.’
‘You didn’t see the video, Jenny. There was just me, standing on the patio. But that’s not what happened. At least, it’s not what I remember happening. She was there. Mitchell came out through the French windows and she… she did something. He was frozen to the ground and then she sent him to Hell. Mitchell’s people tried to stop her. And her dog, it became this… this thing. This three-headed dog-thing.’
Jenny chuckled. ‘You see, if you were making it up you’d come up with something better than that.’
‘The dog-thing killed Mitchell’s men. But there were no bodies. No nothing.’
‘You don’t take drugs, do you?’
‘Of course not.’
‘And you’re not prone to hallucinations, are you?’
Nightingale shook his head.
‘So no, I don’t think you made it up and I don’t think you imagined it. I think it’s more likely that something was done to the video. Either by Mitchell’s people or by Proserpine. Someone who didn’t want people to know what happened.’
Nightingale swirled the ice cubes around his glass. ‘Just so long as you don’t think I’m going mad.’ He drained his glass. ‘Another?’
‘You said one drink, Jack. You’ve had two already.’
‘One more won’t hurt. It’s not as if I’m driving far, is it?’
‘Jack…’
‘Okay, okay. I’ll have a Coke.’ He stood up and kissed her on the cheek. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you.’
‘Carry on like this and pretty soon you’ll be finding out,’ she said.
Nightingale winked at her and headed for the bar.
58
N ightingale walked Jenny home and then went to get his MGB, which he’d parked in a side road not far from her house. When he reached his car he cursed as he saw that the nearside rear tyre was flat. He opened the boot, dropped in the carrier bag, and started unscrewing the spare tyre. Headlights illuminated the rear of the MGB and Nightingale turned to see a black Range Rover coming down the road towards him.
The car slowed and then stopped. Nightingale shielded his eyes against the blinding lights. He heard a door open and close and then saw a figure walk in front of the Range Rover. ‘Flat tyre, yeah?’ said a voice.
‘Yeah,’ said Nightingale.
‘Do you need a hand?’
‘I’m okay,’ said Nightingale. ‘It’s not my first flat.’
The man was tall, a little over six feet. He was about Nightingale’s age with jet-black hair and skin that was ghostly pale. He was wearing a long black overcoat and had a bright red scarf around his neck.
The man stuck out a gloved hand. ‘The name’s Chance,’ he said.
‘Jack,’ said Nightingale, shaking the hand.
Chance nodded at the flat tyre. ‘Happened to me last week. Bloody nail. Still don’t know if it was an accident or if someone did it deliberately. Come on, I’ll help. You get out the spare and I’ll start getting the wheel off. Have you got a torque wrench and a jack, Jack?’ He grinned. ‘That’s funny. A jack, Jack.’